


"Quiet. She'll Hear."

by Persuade_me



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Based on a Tumblr Post, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, it's basically porn, very little plot here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:55:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21707842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persuade_me/pseuds/Persuade_me
Summary: As she gets ready for her wedding, Arya reflects on a certain aspect of her relationship with Gendry.Based on a Tumblr post.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Comments: 79
Kudos: 408





	"Quiet. She'll Hear."

**Author's Note:**

> There's very, very little plot here. It's pretty much just porn. Thanks to ObsessiveWriter for looking over it for me first!

Arya sat quietly in front of the mirror, flinching as the brush caught on a particularly difficult tangle. 

“Sorry,” her mother muttered, tugging a bit more gently on the offending knot. “Just a bit more, dear.” 

Arya watched as her mother’s hands moved quickly, gathering her hair up into a simple Northern style and pinning it into place. 

“There,” she said, gesturing to her reflection. “Look at yourself, sweetling. You look so beautiful like this.”

  
  


_“You look so beautiful like this,” he pants against her ear._

_She is staring at her own reflection, but she can still see his face as he thrusts into her from behind._

_“So fucking beautiful, Arya.” He gives a particularly hard thrust, hitting something deep inside, and she moans loudly, shoulders slumping forward as her hands clutch the edge of her dressing table._

_He wraps a hand in her hair and pulls, tilting her head back up. “Open your eyes, love. I want you to see.”_

_Her eyes flutter open, and she meets his gaze in the mirror._

_“No, Arya, don’t watch me. Watch yourself.” He moves his hand from her hip up to her breast, rolling her nipple between his fingers and drawing a gasp from her lips. “I want you to watch yourself fall apart on my cock. I want you to see how beautiful you look when you come for me.”_

_His other hand leaves her hair and snakes around her stomach and down between her legs into the thatch of hair to stroke that small bundle of nerves, and she moans again, watching herself in the mirror. The sight of her open, panting mouth somehow arouses her even more, and she clenches around him as he drives into her._

_He groans and turns his head to nip lightly at her neck. “Tomorrow, when you’re sitting here, surrounded by all those proper ladies, in that fancy dress, having your hair pinned up, I want you to think of this, of my cock inside you. While your mother warns you about bedding me, I want you to think of all the times I’ve fucked you in this very room. Of all the rooms I’ve had you in.” His words are like molten heat in her core._

_The hand between her thighs is moving in rhythm with his hips now, faster and faster, and she can feel the fire spreading through her. Her head drops back and her eyes begin to close._

_“No,” he growls, the rumble of his voice shooting straight to her cunt. “Open them.”_

_She obeys and stares at herself as her betrothed fucks her relentlessly, the heat igniting suddenly into an inferno, erupting through her. It’s a struggle to keep them open, every instinct screaming at her to close them as the intensity of her release washes over her, but she sees herself shudder in his arms through barely open lids, and for just a moment, she sees herself through his eyes. Hair wild, chest heaving, lips parted, face flushed, and she’s never felt more wanted, more beautiful._

_Gendry’s hips stutter, and he thrusts wildly then stills, pulsing into her. His head dips onto her shoulder, and they both collapse against her dressing table as he kisses her skin gently, his lips burning her flesh._

_“Mine,” he whispers into the crook of her neck._

_“Yours.”_

  
  


Catelyn’s hands went to Arya’s shoulders. “Oh, my sweet girl, you look so very beautiful like this,” her mother repeated, and Arya’s cheeks flushed at the memory of Gendry bending her over that very table the night before. “Gen- _Lord_ Gendry is very fortunate to be getting such a beautiful bride.”

Arya knew her mother wasn’t entirely comfortable with the betrothal, her preconceived notions about bastards deeply ingrained into her, but it wasn’t the time to argue. She smiled up at her mother and reached up to grasp her hand, squeezing it gently. “Thank you, mother.”

Catelyn leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “I’m going to see about getting you something to eat. What would you like? Lemon cakes?”

Arya shook her head. Those were Sansa’s favorite, not hers, besides her stomach felt far too fluttery for much. 

“Perhaps something light? Maybe some fruit or cheese?”

She nodded, and her mother crossed the room to speak quietly to her handmaid. Arya watched in the mirror for a moment, then shifted her gaze to two of the other room’s occupants as her sister’s voice broke through her thoughts.

“I can’t believe my little sister is getting married today,” Sansa was quiet, but Arya could still hear her. She and Jeyne Poole were sitting at the small table across the room, a plate of lemon cakes between them.

Arya could see their reflection in the mirror, their profiles silhouetted against the window behind them. Sansa’s face was wistful, but Jeyne looked as if she’d eaten a lemon and not one of the sweets in front of her.

“He’s still a bastard, though,” Jeyne scoffed. “No matter what that piece of paper says.”

Arya saw her sister’s eyes dart towards her, a slight pink on her cheeks as she shushed her friend. 

“Jeyne, that’s a terrible thing to say,” she scolded. “Gendry is kind, handsome, and strong. Plus, he’s inheriting Storm’s End. He’s going to be a Lord Paramount.”

Jeyne rolled her eyes, but Arya could hear the bitterness in her voice when she spoke. “Arya Horseface marrying a Lord Paramount. Who would have ever thought?”

Sansa scowled and hissed at her friend. “Quiet, she’ll hear you.”

  
  


_“Quiet, Arya,” he warns. “She’ll hear you.” His voice feels like raw silk against her ear. She is braced against a bookshelf near the back of the library, her hands gripping the wood in front of her, her back pressed against his chest. He’s got one hand wrapped loosely around her neck, while the other is working between her legs, his fingers plunging mercilessly into her cunt from behind._

_“What would Septa Mordane say if she found you like this while you’re supposed to be fetching...what was it?”_

_She bites her lip, desperately trying to hold back the moans, and shakes her head. His fingers cease their movement, and she whimpers quietly._ _  
_ _  
_ _“What was it, Arya?” His tone is quiet, but commanding, and she knows he will not continue until she answers._

_“A- A Consideration of History. Now fucking move,” she hisses, sighing in relief when his hand starts to thrust again._

_“What would Septa Mordane say, Lady Arya Stark, if she found you with your skirts about your waist, with my fingers up your cunt? What would she say if she knew?”_

_Arya loved it when he spoke to her like that. When he described, in details almost too filthy for words, what he was doing to her. It was almost as good as what he was actually doing._

_“If she knew how you had hoped I would find you. That you left your chambers this morning bare beneath your dress hoping for my hand, my tongue, my cock to find you.”_

_It was building, the pressure in her core, coiling tightly as he fucked her with his fingers and whispered filthy things against her ear._

_“What would they say, my lady, if they knew how much you love it when I fill you, stretching you out with my cock? How you beg for me to fuck you senseless? How you like it when I spill on those pretty tits of yours? How you scream my name when you come?” He leans closer to bite down on her ear, sucking the skin between his teeth as his grip on her throat tightens slightly, and the sting of pain shoots through her as she pants in earnest now, her head thrown back. “How often you’ve attended lessons with my seed dripping down your thighs?”_

_It snaps, and she lifts her arm intending to bite down hard against her sleeve but he’s already slid his hand up to cover her mouth stifling the sounds of her orgasm. Gendry’s other hand slows, stroking her gently through it as he croons softly._

_“So beautiful. So very beautiful when you come for me, Lady Arya, when you come around my fingers.”_

_Breathing heavily, she leans her head back against his shoulder and smiles up at him. She normally hates her title, but hearing it from Gendry’s lips while he treats her in the most unladylike way imaginable arouses her more than she ever thought possible._

_“Lady Arya?” Septa Mordane’s voice carries over from the table where they’d been working. “Have you located that book yet?”_

_“Coming,” she calls back, flushing hotly at the satisfied smirk on Gendry’s face._

_“I thought you just did,” he whispers, kissing her quickly and darting through the door before her septa came to investigate what had taken her so very long._

Jeyne turned her head to look at her, and Arya smirked, meeting her eyes in the mirror. Jeyne’s face flushed a deep scarlet when she realized that Arya had heard everything, but Arya couldn’t feel anything but amusement. Her sister’s friend was jealous beyond words, Gendry never having given her a second glance despite her attempts to ensnare him.

Not breaking her gaze, Arya reached out for the glass of wine in front of her and lifted it, raising it to the mirror in a mocking toast. Jeyne’s face hardened, and she deliberately turned her head, clearly intent on ignoring Arya.

Arya sipped her wine and smiled. She made to set her glass back on the dressing table, but she wasn’t paying attention, and the glass tipped over, falling to the stones beside her. She cried out as the glass shattered, pulling her legs up as her mother’s handmaid moved to kneel beside her with a towel.

“Watch out, Lady Arya,” Emma said gently. “You don’t want to cut yourself or dirty your stockings. The glass is sharp, and the wine’s getting everywhere.”

  
  
  


_“It’s getting everywhere, Gendry,” she breathes as his tongue laps against her navel, licking her skin clean of the purple stain of the Dornish Red._

_“Is that a problem, love?” he asks, moving to pour more wine on her chest, and catching it with his tongue as it runs down into the valley between her breasts._

_Her breath hitches as he draws her nipple between his teeth, biting it lightly before wrapping his lips around her flesh and sucking._

_“N- no,” she falters, his hand kneading her other breast, fingers tweaking her nipple, sending jolts of pleasure straight to her core._

_He pulls his head up, but does not release her breast. He keeps his eyes locked on hers as he draws her skin taut, and she moans at the look in his eyes, the look that she can never resist, the look that means he’s not going to stop until she comes screaming, the look that she fucking loves._

_His mouth releases her, and he lifts the bottle to his mouth, taking a long swig before he presses it to her lips. She opens her mouth, and he tilts it back, pouring it messily down her throat, rivulets of Dornish Red running down her neck and onto the mattress below._

_The warmth from the wine spreads through her, an entirely different kind of warmth from the heat that his hands bring, and she groans when he leans down to lick the wine off of her neck before sucking dark marks into her skin. She will have to wear a high necked gown for the next week, but when he moves down to mark the pale skin below her collarbone with the proof that she is his, she cannot bring herself to care._

“There,” Emma said, wiping away the last of the mess. “No more glass. You can put your feet back down, m’lady.” 

“Thank you, Emma,” she said, glancing up to see her mother standing beside her, her wedding gown draped over her arm. “It’s time, sweetling.” 

She stood and untied the belt of her dressing gown, dropping it to the floor and stepping into the light grey dress, holding perfectly still as her mother laced her up, pulling the corset tight around her.

“Is that too tight?” Catelyn asked, a soft smile on her face.

  
  


_“Is that too tight?” she asks as she secures the final silk scarf around his ankle. He is bare as his name day, arms and legs spread wide, each one tied to a corner of her featherbed._

_He shakes his head, and groans as she climbs on top of him. They’ve done this before, and he knows how much she loves to tease him like this, when he’s unable to touch her or do anything but lie back and let her do as she will._

_She spends a good twenty minutes riling him up. Stroking him until he’s panting then abruptly stopping. Leaning over to dip her breasts just close enough for him to latch onto a nipple through her shift for a moment before she pulls away. Running her nails up and down his chest, alternating between barely brushing his skin and scratching red lines into his flesh. Kissing him breathless and then hovering just out of reach of his lips._

_“Please, Arya,” he groans out, as she takes him into her mouth for a moment, swirling her tongue around the tip of his cock before pulling off and blowing gently against the dampened flesh, Gendry shuddering at the sensation. “Please, love,” he begs, and she sits back to look at him, his face desperate with need. She knows what he wants, what she wants. What she needs. And she decides she’s teased him enough for the night._

_Arya crawls up his torso and settles her legs on either side of his head before raising her thin linen shift and exposing her glistening cunt to his hungry gaze. Without preamble, he lifts his head and begins to devour her like a starving man. His tongue runs up and down her folds, he draws the bud at the top of her slit into his mouth and sucks, humming against her the way he knows drives her mad. Her hips are rolling against him, and suddenly his mouth is not nearly enough._

_She reaches up to quickly untie the scarf from first his right hand, then his left. “Touch me,” she orders him, and his hands immediately move to grasp at her hips, her legs, her stomach, her breasts, but it is still not enough. She needs his hands on her skin. She scrabbles at her shift, trying to pull it up, but before she can Gendry reaches up, wraps his fingers around the edge of her neckline and pulls, ripping the garment open all the way down to her waist, and a fresh wave of heat floods through her._

_She wraps her hands over his and helps him tear the fabric all the way down to the hem, leaving it open like a robe, her skin bare beneath it. He gazes up at her, not breaking eye contact as he grips her hips and pulls her center back to his mouth, his hands guiding the movement of her hips against him._

_The heat spreads through her and she moves faster, one hand braced against the wall over the headboard, the other pulling at her nipple as Gendry’s hands and mouth works furiously against her. She feels it deep in her core, twisting around itself and creeping into her limbs, until suddenly it bursts through her, and she throws her head back, crying out as her orgasm washes over her. Her hips still, but Gendry’s tongue is still moving, coaxing out every bit of pleasure he can._

_Arya sits back, breathing heavily, and she looks down to see him looking up at her through almost black eyes, his face wet from her own juices, and the sight of it is enough to jolt her out of the haze he’s put her in. He’s staring up at her desperately, and he whispers again, “Please, love.”_

_So she pulls herself up and scoots back to sink onto him in one smooth movement, Gendry gasps and thrusts up to meet her movements, but she can tell he’s holding back, and it frustrates her. He’s already made her peak, and while he’s more than capable of doing it again and again in one night, tonight she wants him to just let go. So she leans down and whispers in his ear. “Just fuck me, Gendry.”_

_And something in him snaps. His legs are still spread, still tied to the bed, but he fucks her from beneath like a man possessed, his hands gripping hard against her hips as he lifts her up and slams her back down, hips driving into her. He gazes up at her, eyes locked on to hers, and he wraps an arm around her back and pulls her down flush against him, his forehead pressed against hers. He speeds up, and it’s an odd contrast, the tenderness of his gaze compared to the ferocity of his movements. He thrusts one more time and stills, his back arched off the bed as he spills inside her._

_“I love you,” he breathes after a moment, kissing her gently on the temple._

_“I love you too, stupid.”_

“Is that too tight?” Catelyn asked, and Arya shook her head as her mother tied the laces of her corset into a neat bow, glancing down at the dress that took the castle seamstresses moons to make. A pity that Gendry was only going to tear it off her later. 

She stood quietly and watched as her mother brought out a pair of ridiculously dainty slippers that could barely be called shoes. Looking at them, she was certain the delicate fabric would disintegrate the second she stepped outside, let alone tried to dance in them. She eyed them dubiously before slipping them onto her feet and wiggling her toes.

  
  


_She carefully slips her shoe off, letting it drop quietly to the floor under the table. Gendry is across from her, his attention focused on Robert who is blathering on about dowries and alliances, and she cannot bring herself to care one whit about any of it. She stretches out her leg, just a bit to brush her foot against his, and he glances at her and smiles._

_She rubs her foot up and down his calf, smirking a bit when she sees his eyes darken. She slowly scoots forward in her chair, and places her foot in his lap, smiling when his hand drops under the table to stroke the underside._

_Arya glances over at her father, but he’s not paying them any mind, just nodding along as Robert reiterates the terms of their betrothal. She wiggles her foot, kicking his hand off and presses it against his groin, smirking when she feels it twitch. Using her toes, she teases at his cock, until she feels it thicken, straining against his breeches under the table._

_“Is this agreeable, Lady Arya?”_

_“Hmm?” She turns to see Robert eyeing her, holding out the parchment confirming her and Gendry’s betrothal. “Oh, yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord.”_

_She does not look back at Gendry, but her foot is working against him, and she hears a sharp intake when she tucks her toes underneath him to toy with his balls._

_“And you, Gendry?” her father asks. “Is this agreeable?”_

_Gendry nods, then in a slightly odd tone says, “Yes, Lord Stark. Quite agreeable.”_

_“Well, then, Ned,” booms Robert. “I think this calls for a celebration! You fetch Cat, and I’ll get the wine.”_

_Her father begins to protest, but Robert laughs. “We’ll be gone two minutes, Ned. They can’t get up to anything in two minutes. Not enough time!”_

_Ned reluctantly stands and moves to the door, followed by Gendry’s father. The second the door closes behind them, she shoves her chair back and crawls under the table to tug his breeches down his hips. His cock springs free, and she immediately takes him in her mouth, her hand coming up to fondle his balls as she bobs her head up and down his shaft._

_“Fuck, Arya,” he groans, his hands tangling into her hair, gently guiding her movements. His hips are rolling, and she can already feel him starting to lose control, his thrusts erratic. She looks up at him from the ground, meeting his gaze and hollows her cheeks, sucking hard as she takes him as deep as she can. His head drops back, and his face contorts as he spills in her mouth and she swallows him down._

_Gendry raises a hand to her cheek, and cups it tenderly. She is about to lift herself up to steal a kiss when voices sound from the hallway, and she retreats back to her chair, smirking as he frantically pulls his breeches back up._

_They are both sitting quietly on opposite sides of the table when the door opens and her parents enter, Robert a step behind._

_“See, Ned? Nothing to worry about.”_

_Their eyes meet, and he smiles._

Everyone else had left, and it was just Arya and her mother left. Catelyn was looking at her apprehensively, and Arya knew what was coming.

“Do you have...questions?” she asked hesitantly. “About...what comes after?” 

Arya shook her head, and her mother narrowed her eyes, eyeing her suspiciously. 

“Septa Mordane gave me a book,” Arya said, which was true. A completely useless, utterly boring book that explained the bedding in the most uninspiring, technical terms she had ever seen. Especially considering that the act itself was far better than anything else she’d ever experienced. But maybe that was just because it was with Gendry. 

Catelyn stepped forward and gazed into her eyes, her expression serious as she grasped Arya’s hands. “You are marrying in front of the old gods tonight, Arya. A solemn vow in front of a heart tree is not something to take lightly. You must honor that vow, sweetling, in every way. The gods are watching.”

_The carved face is digging into her back. She can feel it scraping the skin as Gendry pushes into her._

_“Did you hear?” she whispers between his thrusts. “There’s talk of a betrothal now that Robert is going to legitimize you.”_

_Gendry slows and pulls back to look at her, his face incredulous in the moonlight. “What?”_

_She nods and tightens her legs around his waist, urging him to keep moving. “I heard my father say something. They want to join our houses.”_

_He is staring at her, naked hope in his eyes as he slowly fucks her against the heart tree. “You’ll be mine?”_

_She tugs his face to hers and kisses him deeply. “I’m already yours, Gendry. I’ve always been yours.”_

_His face breaks out into a broad smile, but his hips don’t stop moving. “You’ll be mine,” he breathes, but this time it’s not a question. “Really and truly mine.”_

_“And you’ll be mine,” she says, and the look he gives her is so loving, so full of adoration that she’s not even surprised when she feels a tear slide down her cheek. He reaches up to wipe it away and kisses her gently. Then his eyes darken and he quickens his pace, thrusting up into her so hard, she almost sees stars._

_His eyes are locked onto hers, and there is an expression she’s never seen before on his face. Intent and reverent. “Who comes?” he says, wrapping his arm under her thigh and spreading her legs just a bit wider. “Who comes before the gods?”_

_She stares at him, confused by his first question, then he continues and the realization washes over her like a sunrise, the warmth spreading through her slowly until her entire body is alight with the heat of him._

_“Arya of House Stark. I come here to-” She cuts herself off with a moan when Gendry reaches down between them to stroke her with his thumb. “I come to be wed. A woman grown, begging the gods for blessing.” The words aren’t quite right, but it doesn’t matter. She leans forward to press her forehead against his. “Who comes to claim her?”_

_His thrusts are growing harder and harder, and he grits out his answer between pants. “Gendry- of House- Baratheon-” Her back is almost raw from where she’s pressed up against the rough bark, but there is no pain in the world that can distract her from the love in his eyes or the growing tension in her center. “Will you- take- this man?”_

_“I-” She gasps as his hips drive relentlessly into her and his thumb strokes circles on her bud, and she can feel it starting to break, starting to flood through her as her body begins to shudder around him. “I take- I take this man.” She manages to get the words out half a second before the pleasure washes through her, and then his mouth is on hers, and she feels him shaking as he finds his own release._

_His head collapses on her shoulder, but he keeps her braced against the heart tree, the cold bark at her back a stark contrast to the heat of his skin against her chest. After a moment, he lifts his head to kiss her. “I am hers,” he whispers, eyes searching hers._

_“He is mine,” she says softly. “From this day…”_

_“Until the end of my days,” he finishes, leaning in to capture her lips again._

  
  


A knock sounded at the door, and Catelyn squeezed her hands gently, gazing at her with a mixture of pride and regret. “It’s time, sweetling.”

Arya took a deep breath and exhaled shakily, willing her nerves to calm. 

“Arya, I am not going to lie to you.” Catelyn said. “The bedding can be...uncomfortable at first, but in time, you will find it tolerable.” She reached out to cup Arya’s cheek. “You might even start to like it eventually.” She paused and then took a deep breath. “But you must do your duty, Arya. He will be your husband, and despite- I am sure he will be gentle if you ask it of him, my dear.”

“Thank you, mother.” Arya bowed her head, hiding the smirk on her lips on she followed Catelyn from the room. 

Gentle?

He better fucking not be.


End file.
